


Stripped

by callunavulgari



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Creeper Peter Hale, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Massage, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4613388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What should I call you, sweetheart?” you ask her, making your smile stretch just right. Not too wide, not too many teeth. <i>Trust me</i>, that smile says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> I set out to write Dragon Age 2 fic today and ended up writing 2k of dirty bad wrong underage sex featuring a female Stiles Stilinski and Peter Hale. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I decided to do it in second person. This is pretty much entirely based off of a porno I saw. So yeah. Here, have [some mood music.](http://callunavulgari.tumblr.com/post/127121262510/for-little-red-riding-hood-and-the-big-bad-wolf-a)

The name on the clipboard is beautiful, perfectly European, and completely unpronounceable. The girl watching you over the edge of it is almost as gorgeous as her name. She is slim and pale, something distinctly fresh about her scent. She’s younger than most — young enough to chafe at the cheap remains of your morality — with big brown eyes and hair cut fashionably short. You don’t think that she’d done it on purpose, but the look suits her anyway.

You wonder how she will taste in your mouth. If she will be just as unfamiliar there as her name on your tongue or if she will warm to your touch.

“What should I call you, sweetheart?” you ask her, making your smile stretch just right. Not too wide, not too many teeth. Trust me, that smile says.

“Stiles,” she tells you, a nervous smile of her own playing around the edge of her mouth. She tucks a tuft of hair behind her ear. Fidgets, her fingers playing with the sash of her robe. You resist the urge to pull her in. Not just yet, you tell yourself. Later.

“Alright. Stiles it is.” You gesture to the table behind her, working to keep your smile in place. “We’re just going to start with some stretches to get you warmed up. Do you mind…?”

She startles, dropping the sash, and nods hurriedly. “Yeah, yeah, I got this.”

There’s a twist of anxiety to her scent, as if she’s beginning to doubt her decision. Normally, this would be when you ask if she’s comfortable or if she’d prefer a female partner for the next hour. But underneath all that anxiety, there’s a distinct note of musk. She likes what she sees, and that’s why she’s doubting herself.

You stay silent as she eases herself back onto the table. She plays with the hem of the robe for a moment more, eyes flicking to you. You incline your head, gesturing broadly. This is yet another change in the script, where you’d have offered to turn your back if she were any other woman. Instead, you busy yourself with your clipboard, and do your best to look as if you aren’t watching her disrobe.

Nude, she is even more intriguing. Her body is all angles, slim and pointed right down to her toes. The few beauty marks that you’d noticed dotted across her face and throat is a pattern that continues down the line of her body, making it look as if she’s been spattered with fresh paint. Her breasts are small, nipples darker than you would have guessed. You watch them draw in tight, going pebbled from the cold.

Her legs are long, calves particularly shapely. And between her thighs is a perfect thatch of dark hair, where she’s beginning to dampen, the smell of her arousal beginning to surpass the nerves. You shudder, and she must notice, but she doesn’t say anything. Just bites her lip and tucks her hands over her breasts.

“You can look now,” she says, and you make a show of setting your clipboard aside. Your eyes dart back to her, and you smile.

Trust me, you think.

You work her through the stretches easily, only touching when you must. A slight caress to the nape of her neck when she’s twisting her body to the side. A lingering touch to her hip as you guide her onto her back. Fingers encircling her ankle as you lift her leg up and up, muscles bunching in her thighs.

“Rotate the hips,” you tell her, and guide her gently through the steps.

All the while, the smell of her thickens in the air. She is like a roast in the oven, a lovely, mouth watering tease as it cooks, but well worth the wait. You will know when she is ready.

She’s lost most of her nervousness, a pink flush working it’s way up her chest the more you touch her. She’s even begun to tease you, placing her fingers on your knee cap as you lift her leg, and keeping it there until you’re forced to move.

“Onto your stomach now,” you tell her, and she gives you a cheeky smile as she complies with a bit more wriggling than is strictly necessary.

The oil that you’d chosen at the start of your session is a mild one, with faint notes of sandalwood and rosewater. It isn’t unbearable, even to your sensitive nose, and she makes a pleased noise when you drizzle some across her shoulderblades.

Gently, you start on the knots there, delighting in how vocal she is at the slightest provocation. You’ve worked on vocal women before, even bedded some of them, but she is your new favorite. The noises that she makes are enticing, pleased little chirrups deep in her chest, and long, dragging moans that go straight to your cock.

You stay your hand, forcing yourself to work on her back alone for a good fifteen minutes, long after she’s begun to twitch up into your touch like a pleased cat. The smell of her sex is heavy in the air and you know that she is slick for you, that if you parted her legs right now, you would find her ready.

But still, you work ever lower, digging your fingers gently into the top of her buttocks.

“How’s that?” you ask her, your voice low and raspy. She swallows, eyelashes fluttering and nods once, sharply.

Carefully, you trail your hand lower and lower, watching gooseflesh emerge beneath your touch, until you reach the tops of her thighs. You spread her cheeks, dipping the very tip of your thumb between her thighs and into the slick heat of her, delighting in her shocked gasp.

“And now?” you ask.

She squirms, and when your finger slips deeper, she chokes on a moan. Jerkily, she nods, pressing her face into her arms. She’s hiding from you, hiding the blush of her cheeks, her helpless little noises muffled. That just won’t do.

You hum, dipping down to kiss the dip between her shoulderblades. She tastes of oil and sweat, but you don’t mind.

Your cock is harder than it’s ever been, harder than the last few times you’ve done this, but you suppose that makes sense. All the other women, while lovely, have never been quite like this one. Never this young, never this _fresh_. You know suddenly, with absolute certainty, that this lovely little girl has never been naked with another person. That you’re the first to touch her like this, and that makes you throb with want, and all too soon, it’s too much.

It’s a simple matter to yank your loose pants down and free your cock. Easier still to climb onto the table behind her and replace your thumb with your cock. Her breath goes a little uneven when she feels the head of your cock brush against her entrance, and you stop, waiting.

“I like my partners willing, darling,” you tell her, bending to mouth at the dip of her sweet little neck. “You’re going to have to use your voice.”

She quakes beneath you, the nerves resurfacing for the space of a breath before she chokes it down, clearing her throat.

“Yes,” she whispers, still hiding her pretty face from you, voice muffled. A human would be able to hear her, but not very well.

“What was that?” you coax, rubbing the tension from her shoulders, and your little girl _growls_ at you. You chuckle, delighted, and she lifts her red face from the cage of her arms and cranes her neck around to look at you.

She’s flushed all over, eyes glassy and determined, a spark of defiance in their depths that makes her even better. Perfect.

“Yes,” she tells you, voice sure and even. “God, yes, _please_.”

You nod, satisfied. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You press in.

The inside of her is so much hotter, like she’s burning up, and she’s so tight. It must be a discomfort, because she squirms again, the whine that comes out of her mouth not strictly pleasure, so you move slowly.

In and out, so very gently, barely even half of you inside.

She shudders and quakes, so you soothe her, stroking a broad hand over her back as she adjusts to the stretch of you. You keep on like that for two, three, four minutes, until she’s wriggling again, pushing back onto you.

Generously, you allow her to take more, pushing in as deep as you’ll go, faster than she can blink, faster than she can think to protest. Her back arches in surprised pleasure, a gasp not quite making it past her lips.

You pull out as far as you can without slipping out of her, then push back in. Harder.

She _writhes_.

Yes, you think. Good.

You fuck her harder, until the table is shaking with it, until she’s crying out, her embarrassment forgotten. She’s so young, and for a brief moment, it occurs to you that you should probably feel guilty. That maybe you shouldn’t have plucked this young fruit before it’s time, but no. Given a year, you’re sure that some slathering idiot at her school would have been balls deep inside of her.

It’s better this way. Better that she gets a taste of something like you first. You’ll make her feel so good and then she’ll be ruined for everyone else. She might try a boy her age, but she won’t like it. Not the way she’s liking this, her fingers white-knuckled as she braces herself on the edge of the table.

Like this, she’ll have to come back for more.

An older woman would have insisted on a condom, would have remembered to protest, but your sweet little girl just twists her hips awkwardly against you, trying for an unpracticed rhythm. You wrap your hand around her neck and feel her swallow against your palm, hear her heartbeat speed up. You keep your grip loose, so as not to scare her, just enough to feel her pulse hammer against your thumb. It’s okay. She likes it, crying out louder and louder, singing so sweetly for you. You think that it’s good that you’re having her like this, because your eyes are surely flashing red for the sweetness of her, your lovely little red riding hood, come to find the wolf.

Just when she’s beginning to approach her own orgasm, you spill inside of her, getting her nice and messy, one hand cupped around her belly and the other around her throat. She makes a breathless little noise, a gasp or a whine, and you thrust in again, hard, while you still can, teeth clamping down around the nape of her neck. The urge to knot her is strong, but she is young and so very sweet. She’ll be back for more. There’s time for that later.

You pull out and flip her over easily, dipping down between her legs to taste.

She tastes of you, unsurprisingly, and herself, musky and bitter on your tongue. You lap at her, tease her clit and use your fingers to keep your come inside. She comes apart easily, surrenders herself to your mercy, head lolling back.

You fit your teeth around her throat.

Gently, so very gently, you bite.

 

 


End file.
